


A Ruinous Prize

by quills_at_dawn



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Eivor (Assassin's Creed), assassin's creed Valhalla - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/pseuds/quills_at_dawn
Summary: “You truly don’t intend to imprison me?” the Dane asked curiously.“Not unless you require it,” Leofrith said as a perfunctory threat, unsheathing his seax to cut the ties that bound the captive, “You are free to attempt an escape, but do I have your word you won’t try to harm me or my men in the doing of it?”The blond looked at him, rubbing his wrists.“You are a surprising man… You have my word, Thegn Leofrith.”“Just Leofrith,” Leofrith corrected, alarmed at the bolt of heat he felt low in his belly at hearing the soft sound of his name in the Dane’s mouth, “And you, are you who Tonna says you are?”“I’m Eivor of the Raven clan,” the Dane said simply, “Brother to Sigurd Jarl.”Leofrith is handed Eivor as a hostage and, despite his best intentions, they end up sleeping their way across Ledecestrescire while Burgred's war-thegn fights to keep his master's kingdom together.
Relationships: Eivor/Leofrith (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 152





	A Ruinous Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let the premise fool you, this is very very soft — and this despite *my* best intentions. 
> 
> Effectively replaces part of the Ledecestrescire arc. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

**A RUINOUS PRIZE**

**— Tonnastadir —**

“Why am I here, Tonna?”

“He’s the brother of Ubba’s ally, Sigurd Jarl, ” Tonna explained, jerking her head at the bound man her men were holding.

Leofrith eyed the mercenary with distaste but when his gaze moved to her captive he did recognise the blond Dane that had stood by Ceolbert and Ubba Ragnarsson at Tamworth.

“Take him,” he told his soldiers, then to Tonna, “His weapons?”

“And my reward?” Tonna demanded aggressively once the handover had been completed, raising her sword then thinking better of it when Leofrith’s men-at-arms drew theirs.

Leofrith looked the Dane over as if to judge his worth.

“Do what you must,” the blond told him calmly, “But you should know she bartered two possible locations for your king’s hiding place for the price of half a cow — two hundred and sixty pieces of silver.”

“A ruse to lure him into my camp,” Tonna defended, “It worked.”

Leofrith’s gaze swung from the mercenary back to the Dane who shook his head slightly.

“Prove it.”

“Templebrough and Ledecestre,” the Dane answered.

Leofrith nodded at Tonna curtly.

“Consider the two hundred and sixty pieces of silver your payment.”

And with that he turned to leave with just a nod to his soldiers who led the bound Dane away.

“But he’s a prince! He’s worth a hundred times that!”

“Then you should have bartered for your reward with his brother and Ubba Ragnarsson.”

“Shall we put him in one of the cages?” Leofrith’s second asked once they’d left Tonna’s walled camp.

“No, you heard the mercenary, he’s a prince,” Leofrith swallowed down a sigh, “He must be unharmed. I will watch him.”

Leofrith vaulted onto his destrier then gave the Dane a hand up, settling him high on the saddle in front of himself.

“I left my horse nearby,” the blond told him as they set off.

“Black gelding at Lyftmere’s pond?” Leofrith asked, then continued when he got an answering nod, “We found him when we set up camp. He’s being taken care of.”

Leofrith tried to ignore the soft strands of blond hair that brushed against his lips, the press of lean thighs against the insides of his own, and the gentle weight of the Dane as it increasingly pressed against him. He watched the pale fingers curl into his horse’s dark mane as they made their way down the slope and felt the Dane roll his shoulders as if to ease a pain or stiffness out of them. With the falling damp of dusk, Leofrith’s shoulder too had started to ache.

“Did they hurt you?”

“They didn’t catch me sleeping but no, not really. They did leave me caged outside though.”

“How long?” Leofrith frowned.

“Just two days. Tonna didn’t seem sure about what to do with me.”

It was only when he found himself alone in his tent with the bound Dane and took another good look at him, that Leofrith had to face that fact that he too had no plan for him. If he really was a prince then he was worth his weight in minted silver and the reparation Leofrith would owe the Danes if this prince was so much as injured would be ruinous. A valuable prize of war, yes, but a cumbersome one.

“You truly don’t intend to imprison me?” the Dane asked curiously.

“Not unless you require it,” Leofrith said as a perfunctory threat, unsheathing his seax to cut the ties that bound the captive, “You are free to attempt an escape, but do I have your word you won’t try to harm me or my men in the doing of it?”

The blond looked at him, rubbing his wrists.

“You are a surprising man… You have my word, Thegn Leofrith.”

“Just Leofrith,” Leofrith corrected, alarmed at the bolt of heat he felt low in his belly at hearing the soft sound of his name in the Dane’s mouth, “And you, are you who Tonna says you are?”

“I’m Eivor of the Raven clan,” the Dane said simply, “Brother to Sigurd Jarl.”

_Eivor of the Raven clan._

Wolf-Kissed, Raven-Bearer. His many names were known to Leofrith — well known to him — most recently from accounts of how he’d helped the Danes grapple back Grantebridge. He was not what Leofrith had imagined.

So many of these Danes were handsome, Leofrith thought to himself in resignation as he looked the blond over, it was no wonder fathers the land over rushed to lock up their wives and daughters whenever they heard the sound of the infamous war horns. This one was not a giant like Ubba and had none of Ivarr’s palpable viciousness, and he’d sounded reasonable in Tamworth. Unarmed and alone he should not be too difficult to manage, though Leofrith was aware that he might be miscalculating in assuming this Dane prince would behave like a Saxon one would in the same circumstances.

“You don’t seem as pleased as one might have imagined,” Eivor said at length, having studied Leofrith just as closely, “Tonna is right, I am a valuable hostage.”

“I didn’t ask for you, Dane,” Leofrith said wearily, settling onto a chair and motioning for Eivor to do the same, “I don’t know why Tonna offered you to me instead of to your own people.”

“Norse.”

Leofrith looked askance at him.

“Norse, from Norway, not Dane,” Eivor clarified, taking a seat at the table by the Saxon, “And Ubba sent Sigurd and me because Ivarr looks for answers like he expects to find them written on the inside of people’s skulls. He dreams of putting Tonna’s head on a spike.”

“I suppose I should be flattered to be in such good company,” Leofrith laughed grimly, automatically reaching up to touch his injured shoulder.

Eivor caught the movement but said nothing.

“You don’t seem too upset about the information Tonna gave us,” he remarked, “She caught me but my brother will have told the Ragnarsson brothers by now.”

“Tonna is predictable even for a mercenary,” Leofrith said simply, “Now I know where your people will be.”

Eivor observed him a moment, clearly turning the new information over in his mind.

“You knew she might tell us,” he concluded at length, “And Burgred is in neither location.”

Leofrith said nothing and the silence between them lengthened until it was broken by a discreet cough outside the tent and when Leofrith went out to speak with his second, Eivor listened for the pitch of his voice through the canvas, trying to make out words from the muffled sounds.

Leofrith soon returned, followed by a servant bearing a tray of food.

“Could I have some water to wash with?” Eivor asked politely and Leofrith nodded at the servant.

After he’d washed his own hands, Eivor made a gesture to show his willingness to wash Leofrith’s.

Leofrith knew it was the most coldly calculated show of submission but accepted because refusing felt like showing fear, then immediately regretted it when he felt the brush of long, cool fingers between his.

Eivor’s clear blue eyes looked innocent enough but Leofrith knew better than to trust appearances. It was obvious Eivor had recognised him and knew him by reputation, which gave him an edge over Leofrith who would have to make the most of what information he could glean. He remembered Eivor from Tamworth, remembered his remark about them having their own Mercian to put on the throne, and he knew that a Dane — or a Norse — who could understand why Ceolwulf mattered, why having Burgred hand him his crown mattered, was no blunt instrument, not one of those brutal, cruel brawlers that Ivarr seemed the very type of.

“How did you come to be captured?” Leofrith asked conversationally as he poured Eivor some ale.

“Ivarr was sure Tonna would inform Burgred of what she’d told us, I went back to take care of it,” Eivor grinned wolfishly, “They were ready for me.”

Handsome, even for a heathen, Leofrith thought to himself as the desultory talk continued over dinner, and no doubt he knew it.

One of the things Leofrith most disliked in Tonna was that she was so obvious and that — like Burgred, truth be told — she had no talent for strategic thinking. But this Norse was a different breed entirely — from the ashy hair to the ice-blue eyes veiled behind pale lashes, Eivor seemed stamped with subtlety. And behind the seemingly friendly, open manner, Leofrith discerned a cool detachment and knew the man opposite him was sizing him up with the same care.

Leofrith pretended not to notice Eivor’s long fingers and the way his lips closed over every bite of food just as he feigned not to notice how the blue gaze flickered to his bare arms whenever he moved to offer the blond something more to eat or drink. Two could play this game.

And Eivor was indubitably playing.

“Where am I sleeping?” he asked Leofrith after dinner in that nonchalantly breathy voice of his, so low one had to strain to hear it.

Leofrith stuck his head out of the tent and called for more straw and gave his last orders for the night.

The blond thanked him demurely but when Leofrith unfastened his armour to remove it for the night he saw a familiar gleam in Eivor’s eyes and knew that he hadn’t been wrong about him.

“Your shoulder needs attention,” the blond murmured, his gaze on the dark stain, “I can do that for you.”

“There’s no need, I can manage it.”

“I need something to do,” Eivor said plaintively, “Tonna and her people are the worst kind of Danes. No poetry, no music, even the food…”

“I trust you find the fare here more to your liking,” Leofrith said, pulling off his tunic, “Though I can promise neither poetry nor music.”

The look in Eivor’s eyes as they raked over him, their conversation momentarily forgotten, was one Leofrith recognised for having seen it countless times, and when Eivor’s gaze finally met his, he was ready for it.

“Well, since you insist.”

He sat down and let Eivor look his fill undisturbed as he painstakingly cleaned the axe wound Ivarr had inflicted before running the damp cloth the breadth of his shoulders and down his back, lingering over the powerful muscles.

But Leofrith was determined to keep the upper hand so when the heat of Eivor’s gaze began to raise goosebumps on his skin, he put a stop to things.

“We should sleep, we have an early start tomorrow,” he said quietly then stood and blew out every flame save that of one oil lamp on the table, “Good night, Eivor.”

Hours later, Leofrith woke to a presence beside him but fought the instinct to open his eyes. He knew perfectly well that Eivor was no threat to him and even pretending he didn’t felt undignified.

He kept his breathing even, hoping the blond would give up and go back to sleep.

“Leofrith, I’m cold.”

Leofrith couldn’t hold back the soft sigh that immediately escaped him, but his offer of another blanket was silenced by the very lightest ice-cold touch. Eivor wasn’t just cold — despite his clothes and the blanket and the brazier that warmed the tent, he was shuddering with the tooth-shattering, bone-deep chill that came from not having been warm for days and Leofrith belatedly remembered the blond had been kept outside at Tonna’s.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered then gritted his teeth at the shock of cold against his chest and the gelid feet that tucked themselves between his legs.

“I’m sorry,” came the soft apology muffled against his throat.

“No, I’m sorry,” Leofrith murmured with genuine regret, “I should have seen you were cold.”

He drew the blankets and Eivor’s fur cape over them both and tucked Eivor as close as he could against himself. It wasn’t until the shivering lessened and Eivor’s tight, chattering breathing evened out that Leofrith allowed himself to fall into sleep.

**— Lyftmere’s Pond —**

“What are those?” Eivor asked as Leofrith joined him on a rocky outcrop, indicating a distinctive hill in the far distance of a vista that came sweeping down to reach the carpet of purple heather at their feet.

“Those are the tors of the Stiperstones, in Sciropescire. The tallest one there is Manstone Rock,” Leofrith paused, “You’ll be able to visit once Ubba Ragnarsson has finished taking over Mercia.”

He’d meant it as sarcasm but he’d never been any good at that and he could see from the look in Eivor’s eyes, soft and clear as the sky above them, that the blond had taken the words at their true meaning.

“Come on, you’re riding with me.”

This made twice that morning that he’d wrong-footed himself with the blond, without Eivor ever saying a word or even being conscious since the first time had been when Leofrith had woken before dawn and forced himself to rise simply so Eivor would not have the satisfaction of waking up in bed with him. It had instantly felt like a mean-spirited thing to do and the shame of it still clung to Leofrith like woodsmoke.

“I could ride my own horse,” Eivor suggested when Leofrith again helped him onto his destrier.

“Your horse would have to be led, I’d have to bind your hands and have you lashed to your saddle, but if that’s what you prefer…”

“None of that is necessary.”

“No? And how would it look, you riding into camp like a visiting dignitary?” Leofrith reasoned, thinking to himself that this hostage was just as much trouble.

“We could say you cowed me into submission?” Eivor suggested, the proposition so ludicrous Leofrith snorted.

“If you must talk, tell me about Norway.”

He unpinned his cloak and wrapped it around Eivor, tucking it in under the fur cape that tickled his chin and neck.

As the horses continued to pick their way down the ridge towards the hamlet, Leofrith listened to Eivor tell him about his native land, the blond’s phrases turning poetic as he described the bleak, majestic landscape full of high, hard mountains and the flatness of water and how clans fought each other for what little arable land there was. With a little coaxing he spoke of Styrbjorn and Harald and the reasons that had pushed him and Sigurd to leave Norway.

“Is Harald not a worthy king to serve?”

“He is, I think,” Eivor sighed, “He has vision and courage, more than Styrbjorn. Perhaps if Styrbjorn had not kept secrets, if he had made it seem like a choice for strength and not the path of weakness… Perhaps Sigurd and I could have followed him. When I was young a king was a king and he was the only king I knew … Then I started thinking about what kind of king Sigurd would make… We met Harald, Ceolwulf, your Burgred… I have different ideas now about what makes a good king,” he paused, tilting his head up slightly, “And you? Do you think Burgred worthy? Holed up like a rat while better men fight his battles for him? Tamworth was lost because you weren’t there to defend her, too busy getting your king to safety.”

“Isn’t that what kings do?” Leofrith asked wearily, “Wouldn’t you fight for your jarl if he was cornered?”

“I would but Sigurd is my brother and I love him,” Eivor said simply, “Styrbjorn isn’t just our father, he was our king. I defied him and broke my oath to him to follow Sigurd. I would again.”

“You broke your oath to him?” Leofrith frowned.

Pagans, perhaps, heathens, sure, but it had always seemed to him that they took oath-breaking, especially within their own ranks, as seriously as any Saxon.

“Styrbjorn was the one to split my loyalties when he acted against Sigurd’s interest. He should not have done that,” Eivor said then continued softly, almost sleepily, “There is more in the world than right and wrong. We all have duties and loyalties to more than one person — to kings, to family, to those we love, and those who pay the price of our decisions. Pretending we don’t is just another way of abdicating responsibility.”

The blond head came to rest on Leofrith’s shoulder and he felt Eivor’s body relax a little more.

“We’ll be there soon,” he promised, tightening his hold on the younger man.

Leofrith knew he’d brought this on himself.

They’d made some changes to Eivor’s appearance so that he would look less Norse and less prince and maybe even pass for Saxon at a glance. Someone had lent Eivor a change of clothes and when, on Leofrith’s orders, Eivor had washed off the sooty markings around his eyes, they’d all seen the shadows and wanness hidden beneath. Nothing that wouldn’t mend with food and rest but Leofrith knew well that particular penetrating cold could linger and one of his reasons for having Eivor ride with him was to ensure he kept as warm as possible. Once they reached Cweornric there would be the heat of a fire held in by real walls to warm Eivor.

Eivor did nothing so obvious as wriggle in the saddle, no. Instead he would just shift his weight fractionally, bracing himself with the press of a long, lean thigh against Leofrith’s. Whenever he spoke in that low voice of his he turned his head towards Leofrith, soft strands of pale hair catching on Leofrith’s beard, and whenever Leofrith twisted in the saddle to unhook the wineskin from the saddlebags he felt the brush of Eivor’s cool fingers against his as the blond helped hold the reins steady for him.

When they reached Cweornric and Leofright swung himself off his high horse and instinctively turned to help Eivor down, he found himself looking straight into the clear blue eyes, so delicate, almost vulnerable, without their warpaint.

“My men will be watching you, but you may have the run of the place,” Leofrith said as Eivor surveyed the hamlet, militarised but not a barracks, “Go stretch your legs, when you are ready, there will be food and a fire for you in my quarters. We will spend the night here.”

Leofrith had only taken an escort with him to Tonnastadir and from within his quarters where he gathered his aides, he could hear them tell those who had stayed behind of what had happened, of the captive they’d brought back with them, that he was a prince and a Norse and probably worth the whole camp’s pay for a year.

The rest of his morning went in briefing his lieutenants on the events of the day before and what they’d learnt, in deciding what their next step should be and how best to muster what forces they had left, and a good part of the afternoon in writing out the orders which his many riders carried off in every direction.

When they broke for the day, Leofrith went out to stretch his legs and bring Eivor one of his cloaks — his warmest one, the one he wore at high council to remind other thegns he was not just a soldier, made from a black wolf pelt and fine wool — and to make sure he was not up to any mischief.

He wasn’t surprised to find the Norse at dice with some of his men, drinking ale and laughing with them like a welcome guest. Ever since they’d collected him, Eivor had been polite, soft-spoken and smiling, hadn’t tried to escape or made a nuisance of himself even once and this reputation had obviously spread quickly.

“He’s not like other Danes, is he?” Leofrith’s second remarked.

“He’s a Norse. From Norway,” Leofrith replied, knowing full well that wasn’t the point and that Eivor was likely not like many other Norse either.

Eivor smiled his thanks for the cloak and Leofrith felt his gaze follow him as he mingled among his soldiers. He’d always been popular with them but even so morale was low. It wasn’t just the loss of Tamworth that smarted but it’s abandonment, and Leofrith knew some resented the orders and perhaps even their source. The capture of a valuable Dane — or Norse — was a welcome distraction, a sign of changing luck.

As he passed by the makeshift training yard, one of his bannerets called out an invitation to spar.

Leofrith hesitated just a moment, aware of Eivor’s gaze on him. Ordinarily he would not allow so keen-eyed an enemy a gratuitous demonstration of his fighting technique. But he needed to clear his head and it would help the men rally.

The blond wandered over to watch, all wrapped up in the black cloak, his interest soon so naked that Leofrith, in a desperate attempt to disguise it as something else, offered to spar with him, picking up a nearby branch and breaking it easily over his knee into makeshift wooden swords when Eivor agreed.

Leofrith realised his mistake when he saw the blue eyes light up and watched the younger man strip to the waist as he himself had, revealing the markings of a Norse warrior beneath the Saxon fleece they’d put him in. Eivor was muscular but lean and long-limbed and he was deadly fast and nimble, though Leofrith sensed he was holding back. They both were, both keeping their secrets, and when Leofrith eventually bested Eivor it was posturing on both sides.

“I wouldn’t want to fight you on the battlefield,” Eivor smiled at Leofrith afterwards.

The blond was obviously in good spirits and there was a healthy flush along his cheeks.

“We should have done this yesterday,” Leofrith remarked, “It would have warmed you up.”

Only a speculative hum from Eivor as his blue gaze lingered on Leofrith’s now sweaty chest, as if to remind Leofrith he would still prefer some other form of exercise.

They broke bread with the men at dusk. Leofrith spent the meal trying to ignore the press of Eivor’s thigh against his and the way Eivor sometimes glanced at him ashe ate and drank, trying not to wonder whether the blond would taste of mead or cloudberries.

“This looks warm and comfortable,” Eivor remarked when they stepped into Leofrith’s quarters. 

A good fire was going, there was a pail of water warming by it and Leofrith had requisitioned every spare sheepskin that could be found in the settlement for the bed, having convinced himself that Eivor would be sleeping in it alone.

“I suppose you sleep with a seax under your pillow,” Eivor speculated, glancing at the sheath hanging from Leofrith’s belt, “Usually.”

“Usually,” Leofrith agreed drily and watched Eivor’s casual gaze drift over the maps and papers strewn about the place, “And I suppose you can read?”

“And write,” Eivor confirmed helpfully, “Should you need me to write Ubba and Sigurd a letter begging them to secure my release.”

Leofrith bit back a sigh then gathered up his papers and locked them up, more out of duty than any real sense of danger. Eivor wasn’t too concerned with petty spying, he was after bigger game.

“There’s warm water if you want to wash, then you should sleep and recover your strength.”

None of the soldiers had expressed any surprise at Eivor sharing his quarters here too. They were all clear that as a prince, even a foreign one, the weregild on Eivor was worth that of some half-dozen thegns, but they also felt it quite right that their beloved commander should share the best quarters with him rather than give them up to him entirely.

But when Eivor stripped to the waist to wash and Leofrith found he couldn’t tear his gaze from the ripple of lean muscles under the fair skin marked with ink, he knew he’d made another tactical error because all he could do now was imagine the feel of that skin beneath his palms and the taste of it on his tongue. And judging by the look in Eivor’s ice-blue eyes, he knew it too.

“Will you wash too?” the blond murmured as he ran the cloth over his arms before dunking it again, “I could help, if you like.”

And with this Leofrith’s patience and restraint snapped.

In a moment he was standing close to the blond who straightened and turned to find himself staring up at the thegn, the pupils in his blue eyes widening.

“Eivor, if you want it you will have to ask for it,” the Saxon warned softly, “And you should know that, unlike Tonna, I cannot be manipulated this way.”

Suddenly parched, Eivor flicked his tongue over his lips and put a hand against Leofrith’s chest, leaning into him lightly. But despite the fire in the dark, deep-set eyes, the war-thegn was as unyielding as cold steel. Eivor let his hand slide down over Leofrith’s chest and stomach to reach the edge of his tunic and slip beneath it, flattening it out over the firm flesh just above a hip bone, and he let out a long shaky breath before taking in a deep one, his face almost pressed to the hollow at the base of Leofrith’s neck.

His nostrils full of the scent of Eivor’s want, Leofrith brought all his self-discipline to bear to stay still, barely a muscle twitching as Eivor pressed the rest of himself against him, his hand following the contour of his body round to the small of Leofrith’s back before tucking in under the waistband of his trousers to feel the hard muscle there and finally settle into the cleft at the side of it.

Leofrith looked at the upturned face, the parted lips and the blue eyes that were all fire behind the ice and realised that surely — _surely_ — Eivor was attractive even by the standards of his own people and that he’d probably never had to ask, he’d always been offered.

It was this thought that kept him from yielding even as he felt Eivor’s whole body shudder against his, and even then he could barely speak past the lust that closed his throat and thickened his voice.

“Eivor?” he prompted, leaning over to place his hands against the wall on either side of Eivor’s head.

By now they were so close together that every breath of Eivor’s fanned his lips and the blond was trying to slip one of his legs between Leofrith’s thighs. Leofrith knew he would break first if Eivor did not now instantly surrender and so he hitched the thigh already trapped between Eivor’s firmly higher.

“Leofrith, I want you,” Eivor conceded all in one breath and immediately discovered that when Leofrith gave, he gave it all.

Leofrith caught Eivor in a deep, hard kiss, pushing his tongue into his mouth, trapping the blond against the wall and letting him look and touch his fill as he pulled off his tunic, then Eivor’s, to mouth the fair skin hungrily. He tugged open the ties of Eivor’s trousers then turned him towards the wall, knocking his legs apart with his knee to force a thigh there, rolling his hips steadily against the firm rump as he placed hot, wet kisses along the back of his neck and slipped a hand into Eivor’s trousers to draw him out.

“Spit,” he commanded quietly, holding out his hand, and Eivor obeyed without hesitation.

Leofrith knew well the feel of his own hand — he knew the effect of every callus on his fingers, every scar in his palm, the rasp of weather-roughened skin, and judging by the low moans Eivor bit back, he was enjoying them at least as much.

His nose buried in Eivor’s hair and the scent of him, Leofrith let Eivor enjoy the aftermath of his release, his hard body pressed against the trembling length of Eivor’s.

“Was that enough, Eivor?” he asked, mouthing an ear, “Or do you want more?”

“More,” Eivor shuddered, “I need you.”

“Say my name,” Leofrith instructed hoarsely, but this time it was weakness.

“I need you, Leofrith,” came the breathless response.

Soon Eivor was on the bed, on all fours and ready for him, and Leofrith’s core turned to water at the sound Eivor made when he mounted him, at the way Eivor’s muscles tensed as Leofrith sank into him, slow and steady, at how he angled his hips so Leofrith could take him deeper. Leofrith committed to memory the the feel of Eivor moving with him, the pattern of inked markings he traced with a finger, the way the blond hair slipped over a shoulder when Leofrith curled a large hand over the crook of the other to hold Eivor steady and to press a finger into the hollow at the base of his neck to feel his rapid pulse and Eivor dropped his head between his forearms, the way Eivor clutched a pillow tightly and muffled a silent scream into it as he finally came. Leofrith came immediately afterwards in a blinding release of tension and heat, so hard and sudden that he found he couldn’t release his grip on Eivor even after they’d collapsed onto the bed together.

He felt Eivor cover his hands with his and their fingers tangled together as Leofrith pressed kisses against the soft blond hair.

“I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Eivor eventually accused in asoft, smug voice that suggested he’d had his way in every particular — which he may well have.

“You won’t need to,” Leofrith remarked, too sated and softened by the intensity of his release to care about anything but keeping himself wrapped around the one who’d given it to him as tightly as possible, “We leave at first light. You will travel in a baggage cart. Now sleep.”

**— Cweornric —**

Leofrith woke to the continued heat of his desire for Eivor, made more pressing by his growing awareness of the firm rump wedged against him and the lingering slickness he might find there.

Eivor would be willing, he had no doubt about that, but he did not trust himself with the blond anymore. Eivor was an unforgettable bed partner and no doubt he knew it. No wonder he tried to influence people in that way.

Remembering the night before just increased Leofrith’s urgency and so he slowly rolled onto his back, intending to deal with the situation quickly and discreetly before rising and he swallowed a groan of frustration when Eivor immediately turned onto his other side, pressing his face against Leofrith’s chest and slinging a leg over Leofrith’s, perilously close to his thickening shaft.

Breaking into sweat at the effort of doing so carefully, Leofrith gingerly took himself in hand and began to stroke, praying he’d be able to work himself to some weak satisfaction without waking Eivor.

But at the first hard hitch in his breathing, Eivor lifted his head and Leofrith froze.

“Leofrith?” he breathed in a voice still thick with sleep that sent a bolt of heat straight through Leofrith’s loins, “Good morning.”

Leofrith didn’t dare move, much less respond, as Eivor kissed him gently, playfully flicking the tip of his tongue into his mouth, and splayed a hand over his stomach, causing his breath to hitch, but when Eivor deepened the kiss, Leofrith couldn’t help responding and started stroking himself again, burying his free hand into Eivor’s hair to hold him close, hoping now to distract him.

It worked until Eivor’s hand drifted lower, along the groove between Leofrith’s hard muscles, and the blond pulled away, both smiling and surprised.

“Leofrith, we could—.”

“I won’t have you walk out of here looking like I’ve just ravaged you,” Leofrith refused as firmly as he could, trying not to think of all marks of his possession he could leave on the blond.

He pulled Eivor down for another hungry kiss, hoping he could quickly reach completion and extricate himself, but Eivor soon pulled away again.

“You don’t want your soldiers to know.”

Leofrith gritted his teeth at the brush of Eivor’s fingers near his hip.

“They won’t understand that you were willing and I would flog any soldier of mine who did the same to a captive or anyone unwilling.”

“ _Am_ willing,” Eivor corrected, “I still am willing.”

“Enough, Eivor,” Leofrith ground out in frustration.

Eivor continued to observe Leofrith and wondered about Saxons and their strange ways.

“I could help…” Eivor offered before giving the Saxon a lingering, cajoling kiss.

“I can manage,” Leofrith said firmly, not about to admit how much Eivor’s soft, hungry look and his touch were already helping.

Eivor watched him with undisguised delight and, when Leofrith finally came with a low groan, bit his bottom lip then kissed him again. And when Leofrith sat up, Eivor tumbled back onto the bed and into the warm hollow he’d left.

“You know, Ivarr would respect you more if he thought you had forced me,” he remarked from his vantage point as he watched Leofrith wash himself off.

“I don’t care what Ivarr Ragnarsson thinks of me,” Leofrith ground out, a visible shudder jolting his body at the idea of Ivarr Ragnarsson thinking about his sex life.

“He respects you,” Eivor continued, “You are what we call a drengr. He’s not wrong about you. Ceolbert is not wrong about you.”

“Eivor, _enough_ ,” Leofrith warned then sighed, midway through doing up the laces on his trousers, “This was a mistake.”

Eivor studied him.

“But if I ask again will you make the same mistake again?”

Leofrith turned to look at Eivor, laid out amid the furs and sheepskins for him. The morning’s excitement had had an effect on the Norse too.

“Come here.”

When he caught hold of the blond, Leofrith pinned him to the bed and gave him a deep kiss as he wrapped his hand around him. And once Eivor was spent, Leofrith brushed his lips over his hair and pulled a blanket over him.

“We leave in an hour.”

The ride out of Cweornric was uneventful and Leofrith found his attention wandering to the baggage cart where Eivor had been nominally imprisoned, packed in with all the furs and sheepskins from the bed, and yet when they stopped at a watchtower where he’d left some scouts and he saw Eivor get out of the cart, it was like seeing him for the first time.

Eivor had offered to trim his beard and had worked the rings and braids out of his hair. He’d offered to cut that too but Leofrith couldn’t shake the memory of how it had felt between his fingers and had refused. Eivor already looked sufficiently Saxon to not immediately draw attention and Leofrith knew that he only cooperated because he hoped that by looking more like them he would dampen the soldiers’ natural defiance towards an enemy.

He went into the tower to consult his scouts and their reports and tried to put Eivor out of his mind. He’d barely started when the aide he’d tasked with watching Eivor appeared.

“My lord, the prince asked if he can go fishing.”

“Don’t call him ‘prince’’,” Leofrith winced, “His name is Eivor and he can fish if he likes. And he can have his horse to go down to the river with you.”

The soldier hesitated.

“Are you sure, my lord? He might escape.”

“We should be so lucky,” Leofrith sighed glumly, “Don’t worry, he won’t escape.”

“I’ll have to remember this as a good fishing spot,” Eivor later enthused, not having escaped, “I caught so many fish.”

“I heard.”

“They’re saving us the perch for dinner,” Eivor smiled then frowned thoughtfully, “Leofrith, does Ceolbert enjoy fishing?”

Leofrith looked up from his papers.

“Ceolbert?”

“Yes, it feels like the kind of thing he’d enjoy. You must know.”

“He does,” Leofrith said slowly, “How well do you know him?”

“I met him in Repton. Ceolwulf had asked Ivarr to take him with us to Tamworth, to make a warrior out of him.”

“Did he fight?” Leofrith couldn’t help asking in alarm.

“No,” Eivor shook his head, “He wouldn’t fight you. He wouldn’t fight a friend.”

He paused. The thegn’s face, usually so expressive, was stony and unreadable.

“I was to join Ivarr in Ledecestre after dealing with Tonna…” Eivor trailed off, “Leofrith, we _are_ going to Ledecestre first, aren’t we?”

Leofrith kept silent, not just because he was wary of revealing any information but also because he just now saw why Eivor might have so quickly volunteered the information Tonna had sold him.

“Leofrith?” Eivor prompted gently, “No good can come of leaving Ceolbert in Ivarr’s care for too long.”

Still Leofrith said nothing, then he glanced out of the door and signalled his second.

“We should go,” he told Eivor, “The weather is turning.”

**— Venonis —**

The weather turned before they’d crossed the river and the gusting winds that threatened to knock man, beasts and carts off the path made muddy by the driving rain forced Leofrith to break their journey in Venonis. There was a structure there still standing among the ruins and once it had been cleared of bandits they all piled in to seek shelter there.

They set up their tents on the stone floor to mitigate the cold beneath the high ceilings and there was a lean-to on one of the platforms that they reserved for Eivor and Leofrith. Soon there were a couple of fires going inside and another outside for cooking, and the men broke off into groups to chat and play at dice and other games, and as night descended, a few even broke into low song.

Leofrith discussed the new information from the scouts with his advisors and captains, they made some adjustments to their plans and orders and then he dismissed them, told them to get an early night so they might leave at first light if the conditions allowed and make up for lost time. Eivor had tactfully retired to bed once he’d eaten to let them talk in peace.

Alone by the fire, Leofrith sat brooding, turning a small scroll over in his hands.

His plan had always been to gather additional men to defend Ledecestre. It was too strategically important for them to lose.

Eivor wanted him to go to Ledecestre, that was clear, but Leofrith couldn’t be sure why. If it was a trap, Eivor’s Dane allies might find themselves caught in it for Ledecestre was fortified and they would not find it easy to take. Was he to believe the story of Ceolbert and Ivarr? Was he to believe that Eivor cared?

And yet…

Ceolbert had been at Tamworth, standing just behind Eivor and Ivarr. Leofrith remembered it well for he’d been horrified at seeing the boy he’d trained in swordplay just days before and had tried not to feel glad that he was not staying for the fighting.

He sighed and hung his head.

In Tamworth he’d had the impious thought that God had abandoned him and was now being grievously punished for it, for He had put on his path every temptation he might be susceptible to, wrapped up in the figure of his enemy. And Leofrith had fallen.

If only they hadn’t been quite so catastrophically compatible, he might have resisted. He’d hoped that once the thirst had been slaked their relationship would be on a more even keel but he could tell from Eivor’s looks that it had only deepened it as it had done Leofrith’s, and Leofrith no longer trusted his judgment.

He’d known Eivor just days — just two days — but already he knew that come death or dishonour, Eivor would be the ruin of him, had known it since that morning, early that morning when he’d woken still wanting Eivor, had looked into the soft, sleepy blue eyes and kissed the soft mouth, and he admitted it to himself now that he felt himself believe in his heart Eivor’s story that he was worried about Ceolbert even though reason told him it was a trap.

He unrolled the small scroll and his gaze traced the name there.

_Eivor of the Raven Clan._

He had written it himself days ago on Burgred’s orders, before he’d ever laid eyes on him, to be left in the bowl of a statue here in Venonis, where he’d always intended to pass through, to mark the Norse as a target for the Zealots.

Leofrith rubbed a thumb along the parchment as if to feel the lines of Eivor’s names beneath the pad.

He was still bound to Burgred, Burgred’s orders still stood.

He reasoned with himself that Burgred could not have known he’d be holding Eivor captive, a precious hostage whose freedom could be bartered for concessions. He told himself that if Burgred had known, he would have rescinded the kill order himself.

All these things were true. He believed them.

And yet…

They were not the reason he threw the scrap into the fire after having touched it to his lips.

When he climbed up to the lean-to and watched Eivor blink at him sleepily, pale between the blankets he’d left turned down for him, Leofrith felt at peace, and it didn’t even feel like weakness when he turned the younger man over so that they faced each other when, with his mouth on Eivor’s to swallow every soft gasp and with Eivor’s long legs crossed high about his waist, Leofrith took him slow and deep, the few sounds they made lost in the din of the battering rain, the wind whistling through the cracks in the masonry, and the timber creak of the trees beyond the walls.

“The men are asking if they can take the Norse with them on the hunt.”

Leofrith glanced up from his maps and the reports he was studying. This would be their last halt before Ledecestre and he was looking forward to the comfort of stone fortifications and the sight of men in armour. He was looking forward to having a place to keep Eivor safe and out of trouble.

“They’re proposing to give him weapons?”

The aide shifted his weight.

“Well… He’s better with a bow than any of us…”

Leofrith sighed.

“Fine, but they’re to keep him from injuring himself. If he breaks a leg the price of it is coming out of their pay.”

Eivor had no intention of escaping, Leofrith knew. Even if the odds of success hadn’t been as paltry as they were, by now he could very well guess how Eivor felt about being in a position to influence Burgred’s war-thegn. As for the men — well, Eivor was a prince and he’d given his word. They thought him the very best kind of noble and Leofrith didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was not honour that kept Eivor from murdering them in their sleep but naked self-interest.

Two hours later, Leofrith found himself sitting on a log near a stream, eyeing the extensive bruise developing on Eivor’s flank in consternation.

“It wasn’t your men’s fault, Leofrith, we were ambushed,” Eivor insisted, trying to sound contrite even as his eyes lit up, “Three of the biggest boars I’ve ever seen.”

“They get bigger the further North you go,” Leofrith remarked, turning Eivor this way and that slowly to appraise the full extent of the damage, “You’re quick on your feet, did you even try to get out of the way?”

“It barely grazed me,” Eivor shrugged, “And I got tired eventually. There _were_ three of them and the last one of them did this. I don’t think anything’s broken, do you?”

Leofrith made a noncommittal sound and began to slowly run a hand over Eivor’s side to check if his ribs were sound and he could feel the blond’s breathing hitch slightly. Though not in pain, he saw when he looked into the blue eyes.

“Have you decided what you’ll do with me yet?”

Leofrith sighed and pressed a slow, warm, open-mouthed kiss just above Eivor’s hip.

“Ransom you off to Ubba and your brother? Retire on the proceeds?”

Eivor smiled and sank a hand into Leofrith’s hair.

“You wouldbe coming to them from a position of power,” he pointed out, settling onto the Mercian’s lap, “They will make you a good offer, beyond silver and gold, because they respect you. And it will not look like surrender if you accept.”

“Eivor…” Leofrith sighed wearily.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Eivor laughed quietly then kissed him, “ _Enough_.”

One of those soft, melting looks that turned Leofrith’s insides to water then fire, and then another kiss, slow and deep.

“Leofrith…?”

“We might be seen,” Leofrith defended weakly then groaned as Eivor rolled his hips against him, “And you’re injured.”

“We’ll be careful,” Eivor promised, already undoing Leofrith’s laces, “And quick.”

Leofrith gripped Eivor’s hips but dared nothing more for fear of hurting him as Eivor rode him, slow and steady, bracing himself against Leofrith’s chest and powerful arms, rolling his hips so hard against him at times that he hissed in pain as well as pleasure. They were not seen, or perhaps they were — by the time he came, wrapped in Eivor’s heat and his arms, Leofrith no longer cared.

**— Ledecestre —**

Leofrith’s relief at entering a properly garrisoned camp was tempered by the countless curious looks Eivor’s presence brought about and Leofrith had occasion to be glad that Eivor has so domesticated his men that they would defend him against their own if need be.

He chose not to examine too closely what he felt at he and Eivor having a room with solid stone walls to themselves and after a quick discussion with his captains and an even quicker meal, the two of them retired to bed. Eivor’s injured flank was still tender so Leofirth turned him on his other side and had him from behind, slow and long and gentle, utterly unhurried, and then he drew Eivor close and slept more soundly than he had since they’d met.

The next morning he stayed in bed until Eivor woke, kissed the soft mouth then stroked pleasure into the willing body again.

He let Eivor rest while he went out to inspect the city’s defences, carrying with him the image of how Eivor had looked, happy and sated, and nearly melted at seeing the same look of contentment still on the blond’s face when he joined him for lunch.

“Leofrith, will you take me with you to Templebrough?”

Leofrith’s gaze rested on the blond as he considered and he was just about to speak when they were interrupted by the sounds of horns — Saxon and Dane — followed by voices raising the alarm.

“Ivarr,” Eivor muttered in frustration and, at the moment when it seemed most certain that Eivor had led him into a trap, the last lingering doubt Leofrith had on that count evaporated.

“Take this,” Leofrith said, jerking his seax from its sheath, “To defend yourself.”

“They’re no threat to me,” Eivor said in surprise.

“I can’t be sure every last raider of Ivarr’s will recognise you,” Leofrith said grimly, taking Eivor’s hand, “Especially now you look like a Saxon.”

He tugged Eivor into the room where he kept his papers and checked the locks on the doors.

“Stay here,” he told the blond firmly, “You’ll be safe here.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of shouts and clashing swords before turning back to Eivor wearing a ferocious expression that made the blue eyes widen.

“I mean it, Eivor. You stay here.”

He gave the blond a deep, hard kiss then left, bolting the door behind him.

“Guard the door!”

Left alone, Eivor waited until he thought it likely Leofrith was out of earshot, went to try the door then made a face. The bolt had been rusted shut when they’d arrived — it had taken the combined brute strength of Leofrith and two of his strongest men to force it open, and though the mechanism had been loosened enough for Leofrith to replace the bolt, Eivor had no hope of making it budge.

He glanced about the room thoughtfully. He wanted to get out. Not to escape, of course, but to get a view of the proceedings. Ever since he’d been captured by Tonna he hadn’t been able to shake a feeling of restlessness. Ivarr had been expecting him. And Ceolwulf had already entrusted Ceolbert to him once before.

And Ivarr was surely spoiling for another chance to measure himself against Leofrith.

He hauled himself up and through the gap between a wall and the ceiling and carefully made his way across the bathhouse towards a broken down wall at the back, traversing along beams and bits of fallen masonry to avoid the guards Leofrith had left scattered below.

He slipped into a corner room through a door left ajar to avoid a patrol then raised the seax defensively when he heard a sound in the darkness, fully prepared to kill a raider of Ivarr’s in order to protect his hostage status. He would think of some story to square it with Leofrith.

Some pots in a corner rattled and Eivor lowered his weapon.

“Ceolbert?”

“Eivor, what are you doing here?” Ceolbert asked in hushed tones, emerging from his pots and frowning slightly, “Why do you look like a Saxon?”

“I’m Leofrith’s hostage,” Eivor said dismissively, “But what are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay out of harm’s way.”

“I wanted to help. I was looking for Burgred. Ivarr was supposed to wait for me to report back,” Ceolbert explained, “What do you mean ‘Leofrith’s hostage’? Eivor, Ubba and your brother are preparing to raze England to the ground to find you. If we make ourselves known to Ivarr or his men we—.”

“No, no, do not,” Eivor whispered firmly, “Do not tell my brother and Ubba you saw me and absolutely do not tell Ivarr. Burgred isn’t here and he’s not in Templebrough.”

“I know,” Ceolbert nodded, “But I heard Leofrith give orders for more men to be sent to Templebrough to protect Lady Aethelswith, Burgred’s wife.”

Eivor considered this information a moment. He knew where Burgred was not but despite his many discreet attempts to find out he still did not know where the Mercian king was. And perhaps he never would. Leofrith had told the truth when he said he couldn’t be manipulated and had let slip not a thing since their first talk.

“She might know where Burgred is and even if she does not we can use her as leverage once we have Burgred,” he mused as Ceolbert continued to stare at him, still nonplussed by his appearance, “It was Leofrith’s idea to disguise me as a Saxon. Tell Sigurd and Ubba he might have done something similar with Lady Aethelswith.”

Horns sounded above the din of the clashes below and Eivor gave Ceolbert a gentle push towards the door.

“You have to go, keep out of the fighting and ride straight back to Repton.”

“Not to my father in Tamworth?”

“That’s the first place they will look for you. Remember that until your father is crowned you are only the son of a usurper and every loyal Mercian soldier is your enemy. Go to Repton and stay there until this is all resolved. Part of the back wall has fallen, you can get out that way.”

Eivor saw Ceolbert out and helped him to the ground before clambering up to the rooftop first to watch Ceolbert ride away then to follow the action in the city. He looked for the glint of Leofrith’s distinctive armour among the confusion but all the stone walls and buildings offered limited visibility and soon the smoke billowing from burning buildings made it worse.

Eivor frowned when he heard familiar horns sound the retreat and silently made his way back to the room where Leofrith had left him, dropping back down to the ground in time to make a show of raising the seax defensively when he heard the bolt move.

“Leofrith, are you hurt?” Eivor asked anxiously, looking the bloodied Mercian over, “Ivarr?”

“I’m fine,” Leofrith dismissed, raking his gaze over the blond, “We glimpsed each other just now but it was too late for him to try anything, his men were already leaving. I don’t think he expected me to be here.”

Eivor closed his eyes and sighed in relief before looking up at Leofrith again.

“And Ceolbert?”

Leofrith shook his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the blond.

“A lookout says he might have seen him riding away just as the fighting began, alone. But that makes no sense.”

Eivor nodded, pressed his forehead against Leofrith’s chest and reached down to slowly slip the seax back into its sheath.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

As the sun started to set, Eivor and Leofrith stood on a high platform watching Ledecestre glow with the light of the smouldering fires the soldiers were still putting out and clearing the city by the light of.

Leofrith had torn his stitches and the wound, now restitched, throbbed and burned even in the cool evening breeze. But despite the pain of the injury and of the battle’s cost, he was filled with relief at having held the city. All was not lost.

Eivor, however, felt differently. Leofrith could see it in how rigidly he stood and in the small frown line between the now cold blue eyes.

“I should have left you in Cweornric,” he murmured, “You didn’t need to see this.”

“This didn’t need to happen,” Eivor said a little shortly, “It’s Burgred we’re after. The entire point of the agreement with Ceolwulf is to avoid just this sort of pointless battle. Ivarr didn’t have orders to sack Ledecestre and certainly not to attack it without even being sure Burgred was here. What did he achieve here today? Even if he had taken Ledecestre, we couldn’t hope to hold it. You might think of our arrival as an invasion but I assure you our numbers are limited and—.”

He stopped short when, on turning to him, he saw the soft smile on Leofrith’s face. Smiling sheepishly, he moved closer to the warlord who shielded him from sight as he bent to kiss him, gently at first then more insistently, soon shepherding him back into their room.

“You’re injured,” Eivor reproached weakly as Leofrith pinned him against the table.

“I’ll be careful,” Leofrith murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

He was as good as his word and soon had Eivor on his back on the table, one of Eivor’s long legs slung over his _other_ shoulder and the other hooked about his waist as he bent over him, watching the blond’s expression closely as he rolled his hips against him slowly.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to fight you today,” he later murmured when they were in bed together.

“It might still come to that,” Eivor warned quietly, brushing his fingertips through the hair over Leofrith’s ear.

Leofrith shook his head.

“I won’t hand you over until there’s peace — one way or the other.”

**—** **Cerneley —**

They only stayed in Ledecestre long enough for Leofrith and his commanders to reorganise their forces in Ledecestre and pick out a fresh escort of men, horses and supplies for their onward journey to Templebrough.

“They won’t attack again, will they?” Leofrith asked philosophically the evening before the planned departure, pouring Eivor more of the mead they’d acquired for him.

“I can’t speak for Ivarr, nobody can,” Eivor sighed, “But I doubt it.”

The Norse was once again packed up into a baggage cart and he couldn’t even complain about it, worried Leofrith would leave him behind. The condition of the road deteriorated rapidly once they left Ledecestre and it was slow going. After a few hours, Eivor felt like all his bones had been rattled out of place.

“Have we arrived?” he asked hopefully, poking his head out of the cart when it came to a halt and he heard the particular heavier step of Leofrith’s destrier approach.

“Bandits,” Leofrith explained succinctly, handing Eivor his seax again, “Here.”

“If you gave me something a little better I could help,” Eivor pointed out mournfully.

“It’s bad enough I’m arming you at all. What will the men think?” Leofrith murmured, his attention on the bandit camp ahead.

“Leofrith, I could overpower your guards with my fishing rod.”

“But we don’t want them to know that, do we?” Leofrith glanced at him before urging his horse on, “Stay here, Eivor.”

Leofrith was infernal, Eivor decided as he threw himself back against the sheepskins in dejection, then softened. He knew from the brooding looks the thegn had covered him with in Ledecestre that he’d seriously contemplated leaving him there and knew that the fact he hadn’t been revealed a weakness.

Nonetheless, when he was brought to the camp they’d cleared, an abandoned hut and sheepfold where they would spend the night, and found that one of the men had sustained a deep gash to one arm, he couldn’t help glancing at Leofrith, who ignored him pointedly.

The war-thegn’s irritable mood did not improve over the course of the evening and one missive in particular brought a deep frown to his brow.

“From Burgred?” Eivor asked as he watched Leofrith crumple the parchment in a strong fist before throwing it in the fire.

The dark, glowering look Leofrith sent his way was answer enough. Eivor had seen him receive several such missives — they always resulted in a flash of savage anger in the usually even-tempered commander and they always ended up in the fire before Eivor could get the smallest glimpse of them.

“Do you think it really was Ceolbert in Ledecestre?” Leofrith asked, apparently changing the subject, “Why would Ceolwulf leave him with Ivarr?”

“He wants Ceolbert to become more of a warrior,” Eivor sighed, “Thought he might learn by example.”

“A warrior?” Leofrith winced.

“I know,” Eivor sighed again, more deeply, “Ceolbert will always have more courage than skill. He’s squeamish about hurting those he knows. I told Ceolwulf that Ivarr isn’t a fit mentor and I thought he would keep Ceolbert with him but…”

“Why not you?” Leofrith asked casually.

Even now, he tried to find fault with these stories of Eivor’s friendship with Ceolbert, still tried to disbelieve them.

“I was going to deal with Tonna, it didn’t seem wise to bring him,” Eivor explained then grinned at Leofrith, “Imagine if I had, you might have had two princes to ransom off.”

Leofrith huffed at that.

Eivor eyed him a moment.

“It should be you. You know that,” he finally said quietly, “It should be you teaching him to use a sword. If you were there to protect Ceolbert, Ceolwulf wouldn’t need us Danes to do it.”

That annoyed Leofrith and he punished Eivor by taking him pinned against the wall, off his feet so he was forced to wrap his arms and legs around Leofrith just to support himself and had no control over Leofrith’s pace. Leofrith enjoyed Eivor’s frustration at the slow roll of his hips and how awkwardly the blond tried to move with him, forced to chase his own pleasure. To Leofrith’s amusement, Eivor chased it so fervently that he came more quickly than usual, and he smiled at the blond’s weakly resentful look, mouthing Eivor’s neck hotly and ruining him with deep kisses as he continued to thrust lazily, holding the spent blond in his arms easily until he too spent himself.

And when they were done, it was tangled together in a bedroll on the floor that they slept, next to the mouldy old bed that stood under a hole in the roof that let in the drizzling rain.

The next day they left the road and Leofrith allowed Eivor to ride with him, wrapped in his cloak as had become their habit. He pretended not to notice when Eivor, in obvious and pointed revenge for the evening before, made it a point to press his hands high on Leofrith’s thighs whenever he straightened in the saddle, pushing his rump hard against Leofrith, whose growing heat and tightness became increasingly uncomfortable.

Leofrith gave no outward sign of having noticed any of it until they were plodding their way up a ridge with nothing but open countryside on every side.

“Hold the reins, Eivor.”

Eivor instinctively obeyed the banal and oft-repeated request then startled when Leofrith’s left hand immediately covered both of his, gripping them tightly around the reins. His other hand disappeared under the cloak and burrowed beneath Eivor’s borrowed gambeson, his tunic, and into his trousers, brushing past the twitching member to wrap itself around the soft sack beyond. When Eivor gasped his name, Leofrith shushed him affectionately and tightened his grip, pulling gently, grinding his hips against Eivor when the blond arched back against him.

“Enjoy it while you can, Eivor,” Leofrith warned sweetly, “This may be our last opportunity for some time.”

Sex-addled and gasping at the edge of completion, Eivor didn’t understand what Leofrith meant by that until they finally crested the hill and he groaned in frustrated pleasure when he saw the monastery below them on the river. Leofrith pressed a discreet kiss against his temple as they began their descent and eased his hand out of Eivor’s clothes.

“Go on, stretch your legs,” Leofrith bade Eivor graciously after they’d been welcomed by the monks.

And while he sorted through the usual slew of scout reports, guard reports and messages that awaited him, Leofrith tried to ignore the way Eivor’s roving gaze travelled over the place like he was keeping a running inventory of its wealth. Once he’d dealt with the most urgent business and given his orders, he went looking for his Norse captive and found him in the gardens offering his soldiers some berries he’d collected.

“I found some sweet cloudberries,” Eivor smiled at him, holding out the helmet he’d put them in.

“Those are golden raspberries,” Leofrith remarked, helping himself to a handful.

Eivor tilted his head up to watch Leofrith eat, watched each berry that passed his lips, every swallow travel down the sun-bronzed throat.

“Am I sharing your quarters?”

Leofrith helped himself to another handful of berries, dropping his narrowed gaze to Eivor without moving his head, as if he hadn’t heard the soft question. He’d sworn to himself that here at least, in this holy place, he would keep his hands off Eivor, to prove to himself that he could. But he was sick of proving himself, tired of proving his loyalty, bone-weary of doing his duty. He looked into the purity of summer blue of Eivor’s soft gaze and could find no evil there.

Finally, he took the helmet from the blond and set it on a nearby table.

“Aye.”

They were generous with each other, the petty games of the last day forgotten as they gave with the abandon that only a stone cell with a barred door permitted, cocooned by the steady drumming of the driving rain that began to fall a few hours after nightfall, that muffled all sounds within and without, and that prevented their departure the next day. They spent it instead in finding moments for stolen kisses in moments stolen from their respective occupations — for Leofrith, his war plans and for Eivor his campaign to turn all those he met into his friends.

That evening, Leofrith was just pulling off his tunic to wash after Eivor when there was a sharp knock at the door.

He soon returned, frowning at the short note in his hand.

“Bad news?” Eivor asked tentatively, watching him closely.

“Just urgent. I have to leave tonight,” Leofrith murmured, going to the window to look out at the cords of rain pouring down.

“Not tonight…” Eivor said cajolingly, laying his head between Leofrith’s shoulder blades and wrapping his arms around the powerful chest, “The river has broken its banks, it’s too dangerous to cross at night.”

Leofrith knew this to be true, knew that his captains would advise the same, knew that in other circumstances, in circumstances where Eivor’s presence didn’t cause him to question the motive behind his every decision, he would have been the first to think so. He regretted not leaving Eivor in Ledecestre, as he’d known even then he would, known it even as he’d allowed his advisors to convince him that it would be easier to guard their captive prince in Templebrough alongside Lady Aethelswith. Eivor’s fellow Danes might raid this very monastery on a whim and the reinforcements Leofrith would send for from both Ledecestre and Templebrough would not arrive for a day at least, not that he could draw a significant force from either.

“Leofrith, where will you go?

“Enough, Eivor. Did you try this with Tonna too?”

“Tonna?” Eivor shivered in disgust, “I _paid_ her. But Leofrith, Ivarr—.”

Leofrith silenced him with a long, demanding kiss.

“Why do they call him ‘Boneless’?” he asked huskily, settling between Eivor’s thighs and pressing himself against him, “Is it because…?”

“I don’t know,” Eivor laughed softly, “I didn’t ask.”

“And you? Why do they call you Wolf-Kissed?” Leofrith asked, chasing the question with a kiss of his own, rolling his hips harder, “And Raven-Bearer.”

“You’ve seen the scars,” Eivor reminded him and explained between kisses.

“A manner of speaking, then,” Leofrith concluded, slowly raking his teeth over Eivor’s neck in a play bite as he thrust into him slowly.

And when Leofrith had finished with him, he kissed the wolf scars and every other scar he found on Eivor’s body, moving down the length of it unhurriedly.

“Will you take me with you?” Eivor later asked, still soft and yielding, his head pillowed on Leofrith’s chest.

“Not this time.”

“You’re going after Ceolbert, aren’t you?”

Leofrith said nothing and continued to stroke the blond hair.

“You won’t hurt him,” Eivor murmured against his skin as if to breathe the words straight into his heart, then moved up to look into his eyes, “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

Leofrith tried to hide all he felt but saw from Eivor’s expression that he’d failed.

“Do you look at anyone else like this?” Eivor asked in barely more than a whisper, and Leofrith shook his head helplessly.

Eivor brushed his parted lips against Leofrith’s and left them there, sharing Leofrith’s breath and his own, and it was Leofrith who finally caved and closed his mouth over Eivor’s in a slow, gentle kiss.

**— Sudwella Monastery —**

Eivor watched Leofrith and his escort ride away from a high window, unsurprised to see them heading in the direction of Repton under a storm cloud still dark with rain and thunder.

He knew Ivarr had marked Leofrith out as a target the way a hunter did a thirteen-point stag whose head he wanted to hang above his fireplace, and while he wasn’t sure how much resentment Leofrith harboured for the axe wound that would trouble him for the rest of his life, he was sure that Leofrith would defend himself with everything he had. No good could come of Ceolbert getting caught between the two of them and he was almost certain to if Ivarr too had returned to Repton.

Fretting over a situation that was outside his control would do no good, however, and so Eivor went back down to the main hall in search of distraction and was soon roped into a game involving coins and a viper that Leofrith surely would have flayed him alive for playing.

Leofrith had left the monastery under heavy guard but Eivor knew it was more for his protection than to impede an escape, the soldiers left behind all those friendliest to him. Eivor had, from the first stirring of interest Leofrith had shown in him, intended to use it to his advantage but though the bond they’d developed was much stronger than anything he’d anticipated or planned to risk, it had yielded little. Whatever Leofrith felt for him, it had not made him careless in the things he said or the papers he left lying around and Eivor, who had expected to somehow weasel Burgred’s location out of him in a couple of days, had very little to show for his efforts. He could only hope that his influence was more successful than his information-gathering. Without Burgred and without Ceolbert, Ubba Ragnarsson’s cause was lost and Raventhorpe’s tenuous existence imperilled.

He spent the night alone in the bed, running his palm over Leofrith’s half of the bed and wondering what was happening in Repton.

The next afternoon, while he was midway through a game of orlog with one of the bannerets who’d accompanied Leofrith to Tonnastadir, there was a sudden commotion among the soldiers and it soon transpired that Lady Aethelswith had been taken from Templebrough.

All eyes were on Eivor and he shook his head sadly.

“Leofrith should have been there instead of wherever he’s been sent. Burgred asks more of him than anyone should of any one man.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the men and the moment passed.

Late that evening after night had fallen, they were roused from their games and drinking by the calls of the lookouts, soon followed by the thunder of hooves in the courtyard, and Eivor went out with the others.

Even in the confusion and dim torchlight he could recognise Ceolbert on Leofrith’s horse.

“Ceolbert, are you hurt?” he asked as the boy was handed down from the large destrier.

He didn’t seem hurt and a glance at Leofrith and seeing the way he held himself in the saddle told Eivor that he’d suffered no serious injury either.

He ushered the young Saxon off to the room he and Leofrith shared.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked again once they were alone.

“I threw myself at him but he only toyed with me,” Ceolbert confessed with a sorry shake of his head while Eivor looked over the scratches.

Leofrith appeared in the doorway, looking haggard, his gaze on the two of them, and Eivor went over to him, a pained frown forming on his brow when he saw the gashes on the exposed arms.

“Nothing that won’t mend,” Leofrith assured him absently, letting his gaze rest on the two of them a moment longer before he walked away.

Eivor hesitated then turned back to Ceolbert.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ceolbert shook his head again, “He wasn’t really trying, didn’t really seem to know what he wanted to do. But then someone shouted that Ivarr was coming and Leofrith… he just knocked the sword from my hand and it was all over. Ivarr never caught up with us. Ubba and Sigurd were trying to get to Lady Aethelswith and take her to Tamworth.”

“They have her, we got word this afternoon. They’ll have her to exchange for you at least,” Eivor considered.

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. You’re more important. Your father’s position is very weak while Leofrith has you. In political terms, you are worth more than even Lady Aethelswith.”

“What happens now?” Ceolbert asked, sinking onto a chair, shoulders slumped in dejection.

“That will depend on Leofrith,” Eivor said slowly then put a hand on Ceolbert’s shoulder and smiled at him, “Don’t worry, Ceolbert. He won’t hurt us. He’s a good man, like you said. I promised your father I would protect you. It will all work out in the end.”

Meanwhile, Leofrith wandered the darkness of the monastery gardens.

He’d somehow managed to debrief his captains, who in turn told him of Lady Aethelswith’s capture, and then had stumbled into the cool night air to clear his head. He still felt heartsick at having done Ceolbert violence and seeing him and Eivor come together with the affection of years and not days had hit him like a flaming arrow to the chest. He realised he was hiding but of course there was no way to hide from the shame and the guilt or from Eivor who found him with the same unerring instinct he’d found all of Leofrith’s weaknesses. And at the sound of Eivor saying his name, Leofrith darted forward, tugged him into his arms and caught him in a kiss.

“You didn’t hurt him.” 

“I couldn’t have,” Leofrith admitted in defeat, “Even if I’d tried.”

“He’s fine, you’re fine,” Eivor soothed, curling his fingers into Leofrith’s dark hair to hold him close, “That’s all that matters. The rest can be managed.”

“You were telling the truth, about you and him,” Leofrith said hoarsely.

Eivor nodded and gave him a hungry kiss.

“He loves you. Still loves you. So much.”

Leofrith held Eivor so tightly in his arms he worried he might crush him and forced himself to loosen his hold.

“It’s over, Leofrith,” Eivor whispered against his neck, “The worst is over.”

Leofrith wasn’t so sure about that but he said nothing and gave Eivor a hungry, bruising kiss.

“Shall we go to bed?”

“Ceolbert fell asleep in our room. Too much excitement…”

“We could use his room,” Leofrith suggested half-heartedly, mouthing Eivor’s ear, but the look of distaste they shared made him smile and he gave Eivor a series of short, hard kisses, designed to heat his blood.

“Here?” Eivor gasped, nearly biting his tongue when Leofrith pushed a hard thigh between his and brought it up firmly.

Leofrith soon had Eivor braced against the boulder behind which they’d been hiding and pulled down the blond’s trousers, smiling as Eivor gasped at the chill on his nether regions. And when Leofrith put his warm mouth to Eivor to make him as wet as he could, he felt the lean body arch against him. He splayed his warm hand over Eivor’s belly, under his clothes, as he sank into him slowly, then grabbed his hips to hold Eivor and feel him move with him. He knew that whatever happened he’d never find another partner so suited — one so sweetly willing and uninhibited as Eivor was, who understood his rhythms so well and took such pleasure in matching them. Eivor came first and the hard clench of his body knocked Leofrith over the edge too.

“My men were supposed to be watching you,” the war-thegn noted, still shuddering.

“I’ll sneak back in so they won’t know I was gone,” Eivor promised, missing the point entirely, then moaned softly when Leofrith pulled out of him with a bitten back groan.

“You stay with Ceolbert tonight,” Leofrith murmured, wrapping himself around Eivor to warm him for a moment longer, “I have work to do.”

Eivor nodded and after a last kiss slipped out of his hold.

Leofrith ended up stopping by their room, pausing in the doorway to watch the two blonds sleeping, before sitting at his work table with a couple of his most trusted bannerets to decide on and write out his orders. The men at Templebrough could now be remobilised but he’d yet to decide if would be best to move to Ledecestre and concentrate his forces there, or to militarise the monastery and not risk moving the two hostages. Whatever he did, he would be putting all their eggs in one basket. If the Danes came for Ceolbert and Eivor, as well they might, they might kill or capture Leofrith himself. With no wife and no war-thegn, Burgred would have to give himself up.

He wrote to Burgred, to inform him of both Ceolbert’s and Lady Aethelswith’s captures and ask for his further instructions.

His king would not be pleased at his wife’s capture. Burgred had many faults but he was a loving husband.

After a sleepless night, Leofrith still felt sick with what he’d done. He wanted nothing more than to return Ceolbert to his father and hoped Burgred would ask him to make the trade as soon as possible.

Eivor had taken to captivity like a fish to water, like it was a game, an opportunity, and because Leofrith had not himself captured him and because he’d known from the start that Eivor was in no danger from him, he had not, perhaps, completely understood what his capture meant. But now, as he watched Ceolbert follow Eivor around like his shadow, not afraid but apprehensive, it struck Leofrith afresh what it all meant. He knew Ceolwulf and knew that he doted on his only child the way Burgred did on his wife, and realised now what it must have meant for Sigurd to feel he’d lost his brother. Eivor was neither his brother nor his son, but Leofrith could easily imagine what his capture would have meant to him if the blond had been his in any way. This would all — perhaps, perhaps even soon — buy peace, but at the cost of great misery, and Leofrith wondered if a peace built on such conditions could ever really be strong and lasting.

Early the next morning, he was sitting on a chair, watching his two captives sleep, a king’s ransom between them, tucked into one bed.

Ceolbert was not, strictly speaking, a prince to those still loyal to Burgred, but it was a sign of how nominal this loyalty was and what outcome they expected for this war, that all of Leofrith’s soldiers had from the start treated Ceolbert like the aetheling he would probably become.

There was a sharp knock at the door and by the dim candlelight Leofrith saw Eivor’s pale head move.

“From Offchurch,” a voice said discreetly from behind the door.

“Leofrith?” Eivor’s sleepy, breathy voice queried.

“Go back to sleep,” Leofrith murmured, having mastered himself, leaning over to kiss the soft hair before stepping out.

When he returned soon after, however, Ceolbert was sleeping alone and so he went outside in search of Eivor. He was upset, as he always was, by Burgred’s letter and he needed Eivor’s presence to soothe him.

He emerged into the dawn light just in time to see Eivor send a raven on its way.

“What have you done?”

“It’s too late, Leofrith.”

Leofrith stared hard at him then looked at the bird winging away.

“Archers!”

“Leofrith, no! It’s too late.”

And it was not too late, even at that distance a lucky arrow might hit its mark by chance, but the archers were not ready and in any case, by the time Leofrith had decided, it was too late.

Taking hold of Eivor’s wrist roughly, Leofrith hauled him back to an empty room and there pushed him away.

“It’s too late, Leofrith,” Eivor appealed to him, “They have Lady Aethelswith already, in an houror less they will know Burgred is in Offchurch, and by nightfall they will have him.”

“Where did you get that raven?”

“That was Sýnin, my raven,” Eivor explained quietly, “She’s been following us since Tonnastadir.”

Leofrith looked like he’d been slapped.

“All this time you had the means to effect your rescue… but you waited until now to betray me when it would matter most.”

“I’m your captive enemy, how can I betray you?” Eivor asked gently, then moved into Leofrith’s arms, “And if I did, I only betrayed you before you could betray yourself.”

Leofrith didn’t respond but didn’t push him away.

“Leofrith, you have done all you can but you cannot win this war. What does anyone gain by dragging it on? How many more must die so that Burgred may keep wearing his crown in the dark for a few more days? He will have to give it up no matter how long and how hard you fight. ”

Still nothing but then Leofrith let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders went slack and he bent to Eivor to rest his head against his, tired of carrying all Burgred had burdened him with. This, then, was the shape of his ruin.

“Shall we tell Ceolbert we’re taking him back to his father?” Eivor cajoled.

Leofrith sighed, his arms going around Eivor.

“I should have let you escape when I had the chance.”

Eivor rubbed his forehead against Leofrith’s chin.

“That might have worked if I had tried to even once.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome!


End file.
